Writings from 2006-2007
Kathrine Lukes
October 30, 2006
Dreams
Fiction
Draft #3
Dear Readers: This story is about my never-ending daydream dealing
a T-Rex. This T-Rex followed me to my own home and scared me so
much I still remember the dream. As I said in this story I had
this dream sometime around the age of six or seven, which made it was
hard to recreate. I only remember flashes and pictures, but I
tried to add a little to the story. I asked my parents if they
could remember that day and they said they didn’t. We go to my
grandparent’s house all the time, so I can understand. I don’t
know why I remember this dream in particular; it has just stayed with
me through the years. I dream a lot so it seemed a good idea to
write about a dream I could somewhat remember. This story was fun to
write because it was like taking a step back in time. My favorite
part is when the T-Rex swiveled around. I thought that the word
swiveled would add that little something to the story to spice it up.
It had been one of those long and exhausting days
where you just wish it would end, until you find out it is only the
afternoon. I hadn’t slept well the night before; it was one of
those nights where you wake up every half hour and then it takes you
forever to get back to sleep. Being only six years old, a night
of little sleep takes its toll.
We were headed down to my grandma’s house for a
surprise birthday party when I must have started to nod off.
While dosing I dreamed we were flying down the gravel of 176th Street
where my grandparents live. But wait, that can’t be true.
My parents go slowly down gravel roads to avoid getting the cars dirty.
Again we were flying down 176th when I started
wondering where the road past my grandparents’ house went. I have
an imagination and I dreamed we went past the driveway and continued
down the road. To my amazement I stared at a mining site.
No, that couldn’t be right. Nebraska doesn’t have mines, does it?
I couldn’t believe it; I was staring at a deep hole
that looked like it could have rivaled the Grand Canyon in
Arizona. I saw big mine trucks moving around, but they looked
like yellow ants compared to the mine.
Too bad my mind didn’t take out the horrible
smells. The mine smelled like a combination of fireworks on July
fourth, diesel fumes, and wet
ground.
“Roarrrr!” I couldn’t believe my already unbelieving eyes.
I was seeing a T-Rex; only they hadn’t been around since prehistoric
times. I looked up front to where my parents were and they didn’t
seem to recognize where we were or what was going on.
Suddenly the T-Rex swiveled around and looked right
at me. Its eyes were staring down at me and mine were staring up
at him. And I knew, in that instant that he would follow me until
the end of time. Right then the Earth began to tremble as he took
slow steps towards me. And then…
“Kathrine. Kathrine. Wake up we’re at grandma’s house.”
Whew, that was starting to scare me. I was
just dreaming about a T-Rex and a mine. I guess not, because
there’s the T-Rex, right across the road and in the neighbor’s
cornfield.
“Come on, Kathrine. You need to get up. We’re at grandma’s house.”
“Okay, okay. I’m up.”
I hear the door slam on my mom’s silver Toyota T-100
and the crunch of gravel as my parents get out of the car. My
grandma’s house is awesome, though I tend to think anyone’s house but
my own is that way. She has a rock garden in the front where the
driveway meets the house in a U shape. My grandparent’s house has
two entrances for the driveway that meet by the rock garden. The
garden is beautiful; it has many shrubs and bushes along with several
bird feeders and many different plants.
I had fun at my grandma’s that day, but it made me
even more tired. I played with my brother and my cousin. We
played anything from pool, to tag, and we even played hide and seek.
I dozed on the way home but never encountered the T-Rex. I was
trying not to fall asleep because I didn’t want to see it again.
Too bad, I saw him anyway.
Not on the way home, but sure as it was daytime, I
saw him when I got home. I was relaxing after playing cards with
my dad when I walked into my parent’s bedroom to throw some dirty
clothes in the laundry basket, and I looked out their window.
From my parents’ bedroom you could see the highway I live on and a
little of the neighbor’s yard. That’s when the trees weren’t so
big and you could actually see the highway.
There was only one thing I could see; and it was
walking down the highway in search of only one person, and that one
person was me.
Gunner Brown
10/30/06
U.S. Open
Fiction
Draft #2
Dear Readers: My writing piece is about an underdog winning a sporting event, beating
the best in the world. I got the idea from the movie, The Greatest
Game Ever Played, where almost the same thing happens. I like most of
the story because it uses a lot of extra details and good words. My
favorite part(of course) is when he wins.
When it’s
seventy degrees and lovely outside and you are sweating so much that
you look like you just got out of a swimming pool, you know you have a
problem. Thor was shaking in his brand new black and white Nike
One golf shoes. He shouldn’t have been so nervous after making it
through all of the U.S. Open qualifying rounds, but now, this was the
biggest opportunity God could have given him. And I am gonna make
the best of it, he thought. But to make matters worse, he
realized he was one of only nineteen amateurs in the field of 140
players. But, worst of all was whom he would be playing with, at
least for the first two days. The best golfer of all time, Tiger
Woods, and the all time good guy, who wins a little from time to time,
Phil Mickelson. Ten minutes until tee time.
Thor putted three more times
on the practice green from fifteen feet, making two of them. Then he
told his tall, gangly, caddy, Ricky, that it was time to
go. What a gorgeous day it was, Thor thought to
himself. He saw his last name, Oztriker, on the back of his
caddy’s one-piece representing who he was caddying for. The walk
to the first tee at the Black Course in Bethpage, New York was
splendid. But the round could prove to be horrendous.
ROUND 1- “You nervous,” Ricky
asked. “Wouldn’t you be?” I replied. “Relax, just think just one
shot at a time. The nerves calmed down after he and the other two
players hit it right down the center of the 513 yard par five first
hole. Ricky gave him the yardage of 250 and Thor decided to hit
the five wood. His breathing slowed as he calmed down his body
and felt the muscles in his arms and chest relax. Then, he
swung. BAM! Right into the center of the green. A putt for eagle
comin' up! Only problem being that the other two did it also. But no
one would make the eagle putt, so all wound up with tap-in
birdies. Thor could not believe he had actually tied them, even
for one hole.
The rest of the round was a roller
coaster. Everyone seemed to be playing at the exact same level. They
all finished the front nine in thirty-six, even par, and the same on
the back. That score was good enough to tie the three for the lead with
Vijay Singh and John Daly. Thor wanted to cry he was so happy. But it
was only one day and there was a lot of golf still to be played.
ROUND 2- “Don’t worry, you played
so good yesterday, just go out and do the same thing. You have
nothing to lose,” Ricky said, trying to be supportive. Well, if I
get a good round here, I could have a chance at a good finish Thor
thought. And he got it. On the first tee, Thor hit a wonderful,
majestic, shot that landed in perfect position. Despite, this good
start, he only wound up with a par. He played fairly bad on the
rest of the front nine with a four over par that included bogeys on the
par three fifth and ninth and a double at the seventh but managed to
play the back one under. This put his total at three over par,
four behind Tiger and Vijay who played a one under round. There were
many good players at even par including Mickelson, Jim Furyk, and
Sergio Garcia, with no one at one over. The cut was made at ten over so
Thor was excited to be playing the weekend, but now wanted to play well
enough for a good finish.
ROUND 3- He started off hot, which
he knew could be crucial to his success. With a birdie at the
first and the third, and a near eagle, but only a birdie, at the
eighth. He played the rest of the front at three under.
Looking at the scoreboard, he saw
he had the low half round of the day so far, and he was only one behind
Tiger and Vijay after nine. He wanted to stay on a roll, so he
knew his shots would have to become increasingly more aggressive.
On the par four twelfth, he hit a
monster drive to about two yards off the front of the green. He
chose to putt from there and canned it for eagle, with a big fist pump
and a lout “BOO-YAH!” for the crowd. He would birdie the last to
shoot sixty-six, a six under round. He checked the final
scoreboard and saw that Tiger had played the back three under as well,
which put him ahead by one over Thor. The rest of the contenders had
either fallen to or stayed at even par. This meant Thor would
play with Tiger in the final round of the U.S. Open. It was
almost inconceivable.
Thor lay in his bed, knowing he
should sleep, but not being able to contain the nerves and excitement
that rushed through him. His mind was racing, pulling him in
different directions with thoughts of money, fame, and glory. As he
finally slept, Thor’s mind drifted off to the thought of him winning,
beating the best the game had ever seen.
FINAL ROUND- Thor thought that he
was nervous on the first day. This was nothing compared to this.
He waited with his eyes closed, as the announcer called the final group
names. “And now on the tee, from Hamburg, Germany, Thor
Oztriker.” Thor walked to the tee and set up his ball, and after
the crowd quieted took his shot. It felt so good he thought it
might never come down, but he saw it start drifting right. “Hang
on,” he yelled. It landed just on the right edge of the fairway.
He let out a breath of relief. If I get that lucky an all of my
shots, I might just win this thing, Thor thought, as he strutted down
the fairway.
The first hole was played very
similarly and both got their pars. The rest of the front 9 was a
battle and Tiger remained one up after playing a one under round along
with Thor. They came to the seventeenth the same and both had great
drives, with Thor driving the farthest. Tiger’s shot, though,
wound up in the bunker. Now was Thor’s chance. He played a
perfect shot to five feet and heard the roar of the crowd as he made
the birdie putt, heading to the eighteenth, one of the toughest par
three’s in the world, all tied up.
He could only imagine what the
guys up in the TV commentator’s booth were saying to the people around
the world. Thor got the yardage of 155 with a slight breeze that hit
him in the face. He wanted to hit nine-iron, but Ricky
immediately stopped, looked at him and said, ”If you hit nine iron you
are going to be watching Tiger win this tournament.”
He took his eight-iron and stared
over the broad uphill slope and walked up to take his shot. The
contact felt a little flat and he was immediately yelling “GET
UP!” The ball barely got on the green. But Tiger had the opposite
shot, going long to the back of the green. Both players had the same
length putt, but Tiger wanted to go first. He seemed to look at
his line for the putt for an eternity, bent down on the back of his
knees, totally focused on what he needed to do. Then stepped up to
hit. The ball started off on the perfect line, and speed looked
awesome. But the ball slowed quickly. He watched the ball
slow right before the hole, two inches from draining it for birdie. No
way, Thor screamed inside his head, HE MISSED! The crowd let out
an exasperated gasp, and he tapped in for par and then it was Thor’s
turn. He had one putt to win the U.S. Open. He brought
Ricky over to read the thirty-three foot putt. “So what do you think
Ricky?” I asked, my voice quivering with excitement. “I think you
hit this thing right-edge, you will win the U.S. open buddy.” He
stood over the putt, and felt his knees start to shake, and he had to
back off for another look. O my goodness, Ricky’s right. I can
win the open with this putt. Wow. He looked again and
stepped up with more confidence, and took his putter back and made what
felt to be like a perfect stroke. The ball was rolling nicely,
but seemed to be heading left. Then, it turned, curling perfectly
into the left side of the cup! The roar of the crowd gave Thor
goosebumps. He was absolutely stunned. He took off his hat
and shook Tiger’s hand. Then he hugged Ricky, told him how much
it was his doing in helping him win, and thanked him for all that he
had done. And then, with the wet tears of joy running down his
face, Thor thought back to the beginning, and wondered how when the
tournament started, he couldn’t imagine he would win the U.S. Open as
an amateur.
Sam Evertson
10/30/06
Scourge
Fiction
Draft #2
Dear Readers: This story is about two adventurous people who go off into enemy territory, killing innocent
creatures out of will. Then the situation turns for the worst, and they
are the innocent little creatures. I got my idea from a famous game
that I play, though I do not wish to resemble this game, I use many of
the objects from it. I do like what I have written so far, because it
resembles some of my stronger interests.
“Yes!” I said as I crushed the lifeless body beneath my feet. “I got another!”
“There goes another one!” my cousin said, pointing at an undead running up the hill. “Don’t worry. I’ll get em!”
“No, don’t chase after him. We are in enemy territory. We don’t know what could be on the other side of that hill!” I warned.
“Oh, don’t be such a wimp!” Aaron reassured.
He ran
darting up the hill, chasing after the little grell, not knowing what
could be lying on the other side. He got to the top then fell out of
distance. I did not know what to think.
He better not get into any trouble. I thought to myself.
I heard Aaron call from over the mountain, “I got him!”
“That’s
great,” I shouted. “Now get back down he…” I couldn’t finish my
sentence. The ground started to shake as if there were twenty
earthquakes going off in symphony.
“Aaron, are you ok?” I shouted, but received no reply.
Aaron ran
over the hill, and the earthquakes started again, I could hear him
yelling something, but he was to far away to make it out.
“Quit goofing around!” I plead.
As he got
closer, I could see what he was saying, RUN! He got to the bottom of
the hill, and a flood of scourge came running over. It looked like a
pool of black and blue, ripping, killing, and defacing anything in
their path.
“Oh.. my...go…,” Aaron grabbed me and started to run, dragging me behind him.
“We got to go!” he demanded.
We ran as
fast and as far as we could. Both of us panting almost to a point of
suffocation, we had to stop, we jumped behind a bed of cactuses, and
hid there, out of sight of the scourge. As they ran by, a little orc
boy stood in the road, and the scourge showed no sign of stopping. I
should not have cared about the boy, seeing how I was here to kill as
many of them as I could. But he looked so scared, and insignificant.
I jumped
out, lashed my sword at the scourge, grabbed the boy, and ran. Aaron
just stared at me, in awe, and stayed there, in the cactus bed, unsafe,
and unguarded. The scourge paid no attention to me, but they saw Aaron
there, alone and defenseless. I set the boy down, patted his shoulder,
and he looked at me, crying, gave me a hug, and then said something I
couldn’t understand.
I ran off,
back towards Aaron, and with my sword unsheathed I jumped off a ledge.
He was alive! Still fighting off the scourge!
“How are you… How did you…? “ I tried to ask.
“Look!” he yelled.
There were
alliance members everywhere, killing off the scourge, keeping Aaron and
me safe. When the last scourge fell, the orc boy ran up to an alliance
member and kicked his shin. The alliance member yelled out in anger and
pain, and grabbed the boy by his neck. I stabbed my dagger into his
back, and he fell to the ground, looked at me with regret, and dropped
the boy.
As we got on
our horses to ride out of there, the orc boy chased after me, and
begged me to take him with me. Though I didn’t understand his language,
I understood everything he was saying, and looked at him. I picked him
up, hugged him, sat him on my lap, and rode off into the distance.
Jacy Beeson
10/30/06
Read the Pitch
Fiction
Draft # 2
Dear Readers: This story is about the one run brought in because of the over the fence hit won the
championship game, and the team traveling to state the next weekend. No
one knew how the games at state would turn out, but everyone would be
hoping for more excitement on the field. I wrote about the few seconds
before a pitch that it takes for concentration. A lot can happen within
that short time within an entire softball game. I got my idea from my
own experiences from softball. I like what I have written because I can
relate to it.
A
confused Buda man kicks around the dirt. His head is spring like
and sways from shoulder to shoulder. If you look down the white
powdered line drawn before him, you can see what he’s looking at, he is
wanting of attention. In a chalk drawn box and a small gully beneath
her feet, the uniformed girl puts up her right hand to buy some more
time.
A stout little man wearing nothing
but blue behind her flails his arms upwards and waits for the “okay”
from her. The Buda man has full attention from the girl in the
box. Imaginary bees swarm around the man’s face and he shoos them
away with movements from his pudgy fingers. He points down the
line. The girl removes her hand from the airy space behind her and she
levels out the gully with her Mizuno marked cleats. The spikes
from her shoes dig into the rubble-infested dirt. The man in blue
puts his hands on his worn knees and peers through the gap that the
girl has made by her stance. She puts her elbows in a “V” shape and an
athletic stance with the rest of her body. The gap is soon filled
by a thick piece of leather that covers another person’s steady
hand.
The girl, the man in blue, and the
glove-covered hand are waiting for something. Waiting for a windmill
motion of a pitcher’s arm to release the death grip of the red seamed
ball. Everyone hopes for something different. Some wish for the
ball to be hit by the girl in the box, others are hoping for her to
swing and miss the ball with the loop of an expensive rod of metal
between her fingers. The Buda man down the line wants her to
succeed, and the man in blue just waits to make the final decision of
ball or strike, fair or foul. The pitcher on the mound rolls her
wrist over. Her gloved hand pointing up making her look like a
tall letter ‘K.’ A straight shot directly to the steady hand in the
open gap next to the batter. The girl in the box throws her hands
at the ball and steps sideways with her front foot. The ball drops
towards the ground before it has a chance to get to the glove-handed
girl. THUD. The crack of the bat sounds dead compared to other
bats that chime like bells. She drops the bat and runs away
towards a square on the ground. Dirt crunches in a trail that chases
behind her. She can see the Buda man from the corner of her eye.
He’s waving like a plane director at an airport.
“Go in, keep running!” his
voice so excited the words barely stumble out. The girl’s cleats
leaving a trail from where she had been. Everything goes quiet.
She’s intent on being safe at her destination of home plate. With no
more time to think, she folds her leg and hits the ground hard. A
layer of dirt covers her like a quilt.
“Safe!” The man in blue
waves his arms. The dugout of matching uniformed girls run out to
greet the homerun hitter on the field. Rainstorms of hands beat down
upon her helmet. Loud cheers of “We’re going to state!” ring in
her ears.
Jessah Hofker
10-30-06
Absent in Trust
Fiction
Absent in Trust
Draft 2
Dear readers: My
story is about a girl that can read minds and falls in love with a guy
named Benjamin Clark, whose mind she cannot read. If she tells
anyone but her ‘true love’ her secret, she will lose all of her senses;
she is caught not knowing whether to tell him or not. My idea
partially came from a captivating book I was reading at the time.
The descriptions of the emotions the girl felt came from my own
experiences. Because of my current mental state, it was easy to
imagine how she would feel. So far, I like what I’ve written
because it’s descriptive and I think it conveys the ideas well.
However, I think it would benefit from being longer and more
explanatory. It feels more like an excerpt from a novel than a
short story to me. I don’t like that I wasn’t able go into
further detail about some parts because I wanted to keep it kind of
short. I’m still a tad unsure about the end. It makes sense
to me, but it seems to end sort of abruptly.
I opened my
eyes to the same pale blue room every morning. Begrudgingly, I
would roll over to watch the tiny dust particles dancing through my
room, the clutter only exaggerated by the morning sun. The
shadows on my walls disappeared as they were illuminated with a tinge
of pink from the dawn. It was the same sun as every
morning. I pulled my pillow over my head, knowing my screeching
alarm was about to sound at any second. I don’t know why I
bothered to even set it-- I always woke up before it went off.
The alarm
shattered the stillness of the house with its incessant
squawking. I rolled to the edge of my bed and forced my feet from
under the warm blanket, preparing to launch onto them and get ready for
school. I grabbed my sweatshirt from its usual hook in my closet,
in the room I’d lived in all my life. Everything looked the same,
but something about me felt different. I knew it was because of
him.
His name was
Benjamin Clark, my obsession. He was, without a doubt, the single
most fascinating person I had ever met. I felt a tearing
emptiness whenever I wasn’t able to be around him. I often
wondered if he knew how a single glance from his liquid bloodstone eyes
in my direction could resurrect my spirits. He was also the only
person that I couldn’t understand.
I had this
rare talent of reading minds. It wasn’t something I’d asked for
in my life, and it kept things quite uneventful. The only
exciting aspect of my life was him, because I couldn’t read him like
another dictionary definition. I knew this was one of the reasons
I had such an interest in him and for some reason beyond my
comprehension, he chose me over all others. He wanted to know
everything about me; he’d said it a million times. The only
problem was that the only person I could ever tell had to be my true
love. How could I be certain of such a thing? As sure that I was
that I loved him, I was equally unsure. Could I really have been
fortunate enough to find the one person for me so early in my
life? The moment I spilled my secret to anyone but ‘the one’ was
the moment that all the rest of my senses disappeared. I only
knew this because it was a genetic trait. My grandma had told her
boyfriend when she was only seventeen, and had been deprived ever
since. The thought of never being able to see him, hear him, or
smell his sweet musk was as unbearable as those hours of the day I was
separated from him.
The trouble
was he was expecting me to tell him today. He’d been nagging me
to for years. I had no idea how, but he knew I had a
secret. Then again, didn’t everyone? But I was pretty sure
no one had this big of a life-altering one.
I meandered my way to school,
head full of him. I shuffled my feet absentmindedly, kicking up the
orange and golden leaves that littered the sidewalk like the sparse
clouds in the sky. The trees had changed overnight, stripped
nearly naked of their once green silk.
“Hello there,” a familiar voice called, breaking my concentration. I gave a crooked smile as I turned to face him.
No matter how many times I saw
him, his stunning appearance always caught me off guard. There
was nothing average about the way he looked. His warm smile was
like a sun on Earth; it brightened up all the corners not yet touched
by the one slowly peeking out above the horizon. His fair ivory
skin made him seem so delicate, but the well-defined muscles of his
arms contradicted that impression.
I smiled broadly, just happy to be with him after the long night. “Hello yourself.”
“So, have you thought about my
question?” he invited as he hurried to my side, adjusting his step and
lacing his fingers through mine without missing a beat. How I
longed to tell him the truth. He peeked at me out the corners of
his eyes, giving me my favorite crooked smirk.
“Y-yes, I have,” I
hesitated. I couldn’t bear to look at him. The way his eyes
could awe me into saying anything made it seem like he had his own
special power.
“And?” he prompted. He
softly took hold of my chin with his long slender fingers, tilting my
head until my eyes had nowhere to look but at his. I hadn’t even
realized we’d stopped walking. The cool autumn wind ruffled his
auburn hair, making him look absolutely dashing. I bit my lip and
swallowed the knot rising in my throat. He chuckled to himself
softly, making his eyes crinkle in the corners. How I wished I
could hear what he was thinking.
I closed my eyes and opened them
again, inhaling deeply and looking around for what I thought would be
the last time. The sun had nearly emerged over the horizon, just
enough to light the shadows behind him, illuminating the deep green
grass of my house’s yard. The air smelled of everything autumn-
pumpkin spice, crisp leaves, and the scent of the wonderful creature
standing in front of me. I listened hard to the wind blowing
through the bare trees, the dry leaves crunching under my feet as I
shifted my weight from one foot to the other. His eyes were black
pools of patience. I couldn’t stand the thought of this being the
last I saw, heard, or smelled of him.
I looked down at my feet.
“I can’t tell you.” My voice was barely a whisper. After
what felt like hours of waiting for his response, I stole a peek at
him. I immediately wished I hadn’t. The pools had frozen
over as quickly as a shallow pond in winter. His forehead was
creased with frustration, his mouth drawn in a stiff line. The
warm slender hand of comfort had dropped from my chin and was clenched
in a fist at his side.
“After all this time, why can’t
you trust me?” His velvety voice was laced with anger and
sorrow. It was such a beautiful sound. I didn’t dare to
look at him, but I could feel him backing away from me. I knew
that being able to feel him at all was better than not. I
couldn’t say anything. He had to know I trusted him. I
trusted him more than anything-- even more than love. I closed my
eyes tightly, holding in the tears.
Suddenly, I couldn’t feel
him. I couldn’t smell his perfect aroma. I found myself
reaching my arms out to embrace him, but all I felt was the cold
emptiness of the space he had filled only moments ago.
I wrapped my arms tightly around
my chest, covering the hole I felt. I collapsed to my knees. The
scorching river I felt on my cheek told me all I needed to know.
I had been betrayed by my tears. For the first time, I longed to
feel nothing.
Laura Clark
October 30, 2006
“Saving Ray”
Nonfiction
Draft # 3
“Hustle up, get out of bed, and do not forget to feed the kittens!” my
mother hollered as she trudged down the stairs after a futile attempt
to wake me. As her footsteps faded, I looked at the clock, slowly
crawled out of my warm cocoon of blankets, and meandered down the
stairs. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I slipped on a
pair of Nike sandals and headed outside with a jar of food to feed my
hungry felines. As I approached the door to the porch, it became
apparent that the legendary Jack Frost had come to visit the night
before. The gleaming spider web designs cascaded across the glass
like fairy dust. When I slid open the solid door, I was immersed
into a cloud of unfamiliar dense, frigid air uncharacteristic for this
time of year.
“Here kitty kitty!” I called in an impatient tone. Immediately,
three small fluffy cats shot up the stairs and greeted me with a whine
that seemed to say, “Feed me!” I succumbed to their cries by
spreading the cup full of brown salty cat food onto the white plastic
floorboards of the porch.
As I
watched my famished kittens gobble their food, I gazed across the
porch, and spotted an unfamiliar orange figure crouched in the
corner. Its features were unclear from my standpoint, but I
recognized the shape to be a small kitten.
Immediately after the kitten saw me, it quickly turned around and took
a bold leap off the edge of the porch into a bed of dew-covered hosta
plants. Being so frightened, the little kitten barely reacted to
the hard landing of the eight-foot jump, and vanished from sight.
My heart fluttered with curiosity, and I ran across the yard to where
the young cat had disappeared. To my disappointment, the
mysterious kitten was gone.
Over
the next few days, I continued to look for the kitten, but had no
luck. Finally, after four days, I caught a closer glimpse of the
tiny animal sitting beneath a hosta bed in the backyard.
“Come here and look at this, Emily,” I whispered to my younger sister
swinging on the swing set nearby.
“Shh,” I added, making sure she would not scare the tiny animal.
When she kneeled beside me, we both carefully observed what was now
partly covered by a large hosta leaf. The kitten’s tabby orange
and yellow fur appeared rough, unkempt and damaged with many bare
areas. With amber eyes, a small pink nose, and a white chin and
underbelly, the young creature was adorable.
“Do you think he has a home?” Emily questioned.
“I
don’t think so, Em. He looks too beat up and wild,” I replied
with a sigh.
“If
we tamed him, do you think Mom and Dad would let us keep him?” she
asked in a hushed whispered.
“We
can try!” I excitedly replied a little too loud. The kitten was
startled by my voice and ran off with a blur of orange fur. I
glanced over at my sister who was not concentrated on the cat but
seemed to be conjuring up a plan inside her head.
“Let’s name him Ray because it rhymes with ‘stray’,” she suggested.
“Okay, Em,” I agreed, and turned to head inside, unsure of how to start
to tame our new wild animal.
Ray
the stray wandered in and out of our yard during the next week, and I
slowly began to tame him. I started by placing handfuls of food
near him and letting him eat while I comforted him in a gentle
voice. Soon, he learned to follow a trail of food that led up the
stairs before fleeing, and finally I could get close enough to pet him
while he ate. After this, Ray became tame very quickly.
Although his eyes were full of fear and uncertainty at first, I soon
gained his trust, and he adopted himself into our family. My
parents eventually gave in and let me keep him instead of turning him
in to the Humane Society. As ecstatic as I was, keeping Ray also
had consequences. The bare spots on his battered fur turned out
to be ringworm, and it spread to our other cats and me.
Ray
is now two years old, weighs twelve pounds, and has a healthy sleek
coat. He is well tamed and surprisingly friendlier than our other
three cats. Ray greets me daily with a thankful purring
nuzzle. His continuous grateful attitude assures me that it was
not a mistake to let this young stray kitten into my life.
Audra McCaslin
October 30, 2006
Violet and Specks
Fiction
Dear Readers: This is the
story of a girl who has never really had any friends. We follow this
girl to a new life in a new town and the struggles within her new group
of friends. Together her and her new friends end up going on an
adventure that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.
The inspiration for this story
came from my favorite movie “The Goonies.” I created new
characters with similar traits and a different problem to make the idea
more of my own. I also based the story in present day instead of
in the 1980s.
I really like what I have
written so far. I think that this will turn out to be a good
story. My favorite part so far is when Violet is sitting in the
back seat of the car taking in the town as it goes past her. You get an
insight to the characters lives in that moment before you meet them. If
I were unsure of anything it would be that when I write the rest of the
story, how I am going to incorporate that into what I have already
written.
This was
it. Moving day. The day that most kids dread, but
Violet was actually looking forward to it. She was a shy girl
that for the most part kept to herself. The only friend that she
ever had had moved away sometime ago, leaving her all alone. Once
in a blue moon she would exchange a word or two with a classmate or
teacher, but only to get a point across. Her free time was kept
occupied by her two pets, an always faithful dog and a mischievous cat,
and what time wasn’t spent with them was used up by homework and
filling her need for adventure by being consumed in a good read.
Everything
was packed up and ready to go, so they went on their way. Violet
looked back to watch what had been her home for her whole life
shrinking into the horizon, and soon it was like nothing more than a
speck of dirt lost among other specks of dirt. Even though she
had no friends she couldn’t help but feel remorse for leaving her old
home, but a new life lay ahead. Maybe, it would be an even better
one. She couldn’t keep herself from hoping it would be.
As the car
drove through the town, Violet caught glimpses of the people within
it. A boy with shaggy brown hair and a girl with her hair
dyed black and dark eyes pilled with black eyeliner sat together
conversing on a porch. Another boy with extremely pale skin,
flaming red hair, and his eyes magnified by the big round glasses that
encircled them was walking down the uneven and worn sidewalk, laden
down with a stack of books, coming home from the library.
Another few blocks away she spied a video rental store and a shred of
the interior could be seen as the car rolled past it. Violet saw a
chunky boy talking while shoveling candy into his mouth and having
pieces of it fly all around an African American boy beside him that was
checking out the newest in video games. Exiting the mall was a
girl with long dark brown hair that was carrying bags upon bags of
merchandise. She put a whole new meaning to the saying of shop
till you drop. Little known to Violet that these kids would soon
become her closest friends and that this town would feel more like a
home than anywhere ever had.
The next few
days were to be filled with the joy of unpacking all the junk that had
been lugged to the new house and give it a place within. Not much
changed in their new lives. Violet’s parents were still the workaholic
type and she still frequented the library filling her craving for
adventure, but now the end of summer was drawing near and Violet would
soon have to face the aspect of school. With about a week left of
summer, Violet was at her usual spot, the library, lost in thought and
the beginnings of her favorite book, Treasure Island, she collided into
a boy.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “Sometimes I just get so absorbed that I don’t watch where I’m going.”
He replied simply, “Don’t worry about it.”
Violet stuck out her hand and said, “My name’s Violet.”
“Specks,” he stated.
“Specks?”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls me anyways, but my real name’s Clark.”
“Oh, Okay. So I guess I’ll see you around,” Violet said, bidding him good-bye.
“Nice meeting you.”
On and off for the remainder of
that week she would see Specks at the library and they’d have a chat,
but that was the closest that she got to having a friend for the rest
of the summer.
Before she knew it the school
year had begun. That first day was as lonely as lonely as ever.
That was until science class. As soon as she had walked in the
door her eyes fell upon a familiar head full of fiery red hair. It was
Specks! Violet went and found a desk beside him. Ecstatic to find
that they went to the same school, they emerged into a discussion only
to be interrupted by a petite girl dressed in the newest trends.
She greeted him, “Hey Specks! Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, my name’s Violet. I’m new here this year, and you are?”
“I’m Arabelle. I’m Specks’
cousin.” And the discussion continued from there until class
started. It turns out that Specks, even though he takes tenth
grade classes, is supposed to be in ninth grade. Also that Specks and
Arabelle have the same group of friends, so maybe there was hope yet
for getting friends.
A bell signaled the end of the
period and that it was time for lunch. Specks invited her to join them
at their lunch table, and Arabelle wanted to introduce her to their
friends. So Violet tagged along beside them through the jungle of
the cafeteria with lunch trays in hand. As they were settling
themselves down, an extremely monotone girl with the blackest black of
hair interrupted, “Who is that?”
“This is Violet. She is mine and Specks’ friend.”
She had said friend. She had a friend. No, two friends. This was what she was waiting for, Violet thought silently to herself.
“And she is here because why?” the monotone girl inquired.
“Don’t pay attention to her.” A
shaggy haired boy whispered to Violet, “It’s not like we don’t want you
hear, she’s just pessimistic because nobody is ever this nice to her.
My name’s Will and that’s Jada,” he said, signaling over to the girl
with eyeliner covering her eyes.
“Hey, beautiful,” greeted an African American boy as he slid onto the bench next to Jada, “Did you miss me?”
Jada scooted farther over with a disgusted look on her face.
“And that there is Chad,” Will stated. “He has taken a fancy to my sister.
“Your sister? Jada is your sister?” inquired Violet.
“Yeah, were twins, actually,”
he said simply. Then a slightly overweight boy with food piled sky high
on his lunch tray interrupted their conversation.
“Hey Max did you get enough food?” asked Chad.
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Then he dug into the mountain of food. And so Violet spent that days lunch getting acquainted with her newfound friends.
To be continued….
Brittni Wolff
October 30, 2006
The Candy Store
Fiction
Draft #2
Dear Readers: My story is
about Greta, a small town girl who didn’t really believe in
herself. Her friend Isa didn’t help with her vain beauty.
But when a young boy catches her runaway dog, he doesn’t just become a
friend, he becomes a life partner. The idea of the story was all
the romance novels and movies I’ve ever read. This is what I want
to happen in my life. I’m really happy with how my story turned
out. I’ve never written a romance before, and I wanted to give it
a shot. I think if I were able to expand on the storyline, it
would better than I would expect. My favorite part is when Greta
meets Karson. It is just so cute how they are really shy towards
each other.
October 3, 2006
I keep pacing, listening to the
chatter of my bridesmaids and the ruffle of my white lace dress.
My heart is beating a thousand times per minute. It’s my wedding
day. Our day.
But first, let me take you back to the beginning. Back to when we first met.
July 24, 1991.
“Whoa, Janie
slow down!” I shout as Janie, my fat chocolate lab, tugs on the leash
trying to chase a stray cat. My black hair starts to fall
out of my ponytail.
“JANIE!
Bad dog! NO!” I screech. Janie always cowers when she
hears ‘no.’ She stops, with her tail tucked between her legs and lets
out of pitiful whimper. I smile slightly as I kneel down and rub
behind her ears.
“Let’s go home,
sweetie,” I whisper in Janie’s ears. We both stand up, and turn
around. I have a tight grip on the leash, just in case
Janie starts to tug.
“Greta!
GRETA!” I turn around to see who is calling my name. Isa is
running towards me at full force with her blonde hair shimmering and
bouncing around her shoulders. Her bright green eyes dance with
glee. Isa’s tan skin glistens because of the sparkly lotion she
puts on every time she goes out.
I start to feel
self-conscious of my appearance. Remembering that I haven’t taken
a shower yet, I quickly slick my black hair back into a ponytail.
I look down at my dirty almost yellow, Keds that were once white, my
paint-stained, faded black tee shirt that says “Number One Sister,” and
my jean cut-offs.
Isa finally
catches up to me and gives me a big bear hug. She smells like
lavender, and I smell like sweat. Her pink tank top is adorned
with light blue rhinestones, and she wears the shortest shorts I’ve
ever seen.
When she stops embracing me, she looks me up and down and sighs.
“Greta, how
many time have I told you this? You really should let me
take you shopping,” she exclaims, obviously disgusted by what I am
wearing.
“Isa, you know I can’t,” I say.
She just shrugs as her eyes stare at my legs. “Still can’t shave, huh?”
“My mom won’t
let me,” I sigh as I look at her smooth, tan legs with envy. “She
says 14 year-olds don’t need to shave.”
Isa rolls her
eyes, and then grabs my hand. “Come on, I saw a bunch of guys
over down by the candy shop. Let’s go talk to them.”
“I can’t.
I have to bring Janie back home,” I say, tugging on the leash
gently. Janie sits and stares at a squirrel climbing up a tree.
“It will only be a few minutes!” Isa begs.
“Oh, fine. But it better be quick!” I say with a smile.
Isa grabs my hand and we run all
the way down the street and stop a few stores away from the candy
store. Isa looked into a shop window and fixed her hair. I
really could not care less what I looked like.
We start walking toward the candy
store. Isa was moving her hips and flipping her hair; I was
looking down at my dirty Keds. The boys stop talking and nudge
each other when they see Isa.
“Hey! What’s up?” the boy
with blonde curly hair says, as he winks at Isa. There were about
five boys there; they all pushed each other to get near Isa, though,
one didn’t. He just stood in the back and fiddled with a candy
bar he bought. His honey brown hair covering his eyes, though I
thought I could see a hint of sky blue eyes hiding behind it. He
looks up at me, and then looks away. I blushed. He was the
cutest one there. His eyes were an icy sky blue; his cheeks were
rosy from the heat. He wore jeans ripped in the knees and a
forest green shirt. Isa was too busy with the other guys to
notice him.
“Hi….uhhh, I’m Greta,” I say nervously. I was never usually the one to start a conversation.
“Um…hey. I’m Karson,” he implies, his rosy cheeks getting even redder.
When he spoke, my heart fluttered,
and my grip on Janie’s leash loosened. I didn’t notice that Janie
was pulling the whole time I was there, and when I loosened my hand,
she bolted toward a cat.
“JANIE! NO! NOOO!” I
shout as I ran after her. Someone was running after Janie,
too. They pass me and dove after the leash and grabbed it.
I was so out of breath, that I didn’t notice whom it was at first.
“Here’s your dog. Gotta keep
a firm grip with the big ones,” he said slyly. I look up to see
Karson holding my dog’s leash. I smile, taking it from him.
“Thanks. You saved my butt.” I said, shyly.
Ever since then, we’ve been tighter than Isa’s shirts.
October 3, 2006
“Greta, Greta,
you have to go down the isle!” my mom shouts, shaking me from my
dream. A smile spreads across my face as I stand up, making sure
I have everything.
I touch my great-great-grandma’s
pearl necklace, ‘Something old’. I brush my hands along the
dress, smoothing it out, ‘Something new’. I pull the hem of my
dress up, and look at my sister’s ivory pointed flats, ‘Something
borrowed’. Last, I grab my bouquet of blue tulips, ‘Something
blue’.
I look in the mirror. My
shapeless fourteen year-old figure disappeared and now my body is
curvy. My black hair is in loose curls pulled up with a few
strands hanging around my face. My brown eyes sparkle from the
sunshine that seeps in through the window.
My mom grabs my hand and leads me
to the gigantic wooden doors. I hear the organ start to play a
beautiful tune. The doors open, my niece, the flower girl, walks
in first, then the bridesmaids, Isa being my maid of honor.
My dad grabs my arm and whispers
“You ready, pumpkin?” and I nod. We walk through the doors. My
heart is beating so fast. My attention is focusing on my future
husband-to-be, Karson. He stands there and stares at me as if in
a trance. I blush and he winks at me. We finally make it to
the altar, and Karson and I begin a life together.
Michelle Stading
10/30/06
Promoted to Hero
Fiction
Draft #3
Dear
Readers: This piece is about a boy who is going through a pretty
normal life, until one night his boss is getting robbed. He decides to
try to help her, but ends up getting this girl he has a crush on
killed. The robber just happens to be her brother trying to get money
to pay for drugs. The point of it all is to show that drugs can ruin
lives and that accidents do happen and there’s nothing you can do about
it.
I got my idea
by thinking about what is going on in the world today and what sad
things happen on the news. You hear about all of these people that are
murdered, killed because they were doing something they shouldn’t have.
People are losing to violence, greed, and hate, even boredom. These
need to be fixed if we are to better our society.
I like what
I’ve written, but it’s not my best, it’s kind of negative and
depressing. I was trying to get across that people do things that are
unexpected and what’s in the past can’t be changed. It didn’t come out
like I wanted it to. I wanted it to give this message, but in a lighter
way. I like my writing to be somewhat inspirational, but this piece
lacked that for me.
My favorite
part was when he hears her playing her violin and how much he could
feel the emotion in the music by the look on her face. I’m still
unsure if this piece gets any message across at all.
You hear about
all of these great people: that man pulled a woman out of a burning
building, that woman found the cure to this disease, that boy took a
bullet for some old lady in a grocery store buying milk. These are
truly heroic people. Who am I to be classified as one of them? All I
did was cause a mess and end up killing someone, yet I’m called a hero.
“Bobby, come here and help me lift this box,” requested Ms. Krabern.
“I’m coming,” I
reply. It’s Sunday night and I’m stuck working in a grocery store
called Dixie’s Mart. Jeez, am I lame or what?
“Ms. Krabern, I
think I’ll be heading home now. It’s family night; my parents are
expecting me home,” I simply declare.
“Yes, you’re
right. Take some of these cinnamon rolls home with you. That way they
won’t be mad at you for being late. I’m sure your little brother would
like that,” Ms. Krabern pronounces quite sweetly.
I smile and say, “Thanks, they’ll appreciate that. Good-bye Ms. Krabern. See you Monday.”
“Good-bye, dear. Hurry home now,” she informs me.
As I’m walking
home I hear the sound that makes my stomach do a somersault; and I
catch my breath, for the sound of that violin is like heaven on earth.
Katie Wilkins is the best violinist that’s ever put a stick to a
string. I finally pass on, but all the while I think of that music and
the features on her face as she feels the music pulsing and lets it
live and breathe.
About half way
home I remember I left those cinnamon rolls and my backpack. “Ah,
shoot. I guess I had better go back,” I mutter to myself. “Now I’m
going to be even later.” Hopefully Ms. Krabern hasn’t locked up yet.
What’s that? It sounds like crying. I look in through the window and
see a gun pointed to her head and a big guy with a black facemask on. I
stand there for but a second; then I sneak around to the back
door.
“You are a bad
man. You can’t even earn your money like a decent person,” exclaims Ms.
Krabern. But I can hear the horror in her voice and I know that took a
lot of guts.
I can see his eyes. There’s fear and anger. “Give me the money. I need that money,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
Ms. Krabern gives in and hands it
to him. I see my chance; I jump onto his back and the gun fires a stray
shot. I reach for the gun but I get an arm instead; but it works
because the gun is knocked to the floor. I try to pin him down. He’s so
much bigger, and I can’t hold him much longer. Sirens. Relief washes
over me. Good, there’s serious punishment that’s to be paid for this.
I’m freed from the struggle. I
look to calculate the damages and I see her, Katie Wilkins lying in the
middle of the street, exactly in front of the bullet hole. I rush to
her side, ready to give my life, whatever it takes. Blood is
everywhere, on me, on her; I scramble to find the entry wound. She’s
gasping and I see her eyes, oh those eyes. Forever will they haunt me.
The raw fear that punctures your heart. I try to stay calm, but I don’t
know how to help her. She can’t die. She’s my friend. But her eyes
glaze over and I can see death written so spitefully. No, she can’t
die. I breathe air into her lungs and pump her heart. I start to feel
hope but it slowly fades and I find the hole, it went straight through
both of her lungs. That one shot and she’s gone.
Ms. Krabern comes to my side and I
know that I’ve lost, but something in me just won’t let her go, like
it’s my fault. “Katie!” I scream. I turn away and the tears are a
torrent of rain. “I’ve killed her, I’ve killed her,” I sob. “ She
didn’t deserve this.”
“You couldn’t have saved her, Bobby. It was fate,” Ms. Krabern whispers.
* * *
The tears have come to an end and
I’m left cold and numb. I stare out the window as the police officer
drives me home. We come to my house and I’m half way to the door when
my parents come out. They’re crying. They know. My mom holds me and
kisses my head for what seems like hours, but it’s what I need; it’s my
release to feel safe and loved. I fall asleep in her arms.
The sun peeks through my window;
I’m awoken to the dawning of a new day. I remember it all. The gun, the
shot, Katie. School is just impossible; I go downstairs to the kitchen
and am met by parents who look like they got about as much sleep as I
did. They aren’t going to work either. I can’t speak. I know something
needs to be said, but I’m choking on the sob that just can’t come out,
for if it does I won’t be able to hold anything back. My parents come
to me once again and I’m embraced in a hug so strong. While I hold
them, I realize they are my lifelines to sanity, the only thing left to
hold onto.
“I must go see Katie’s parents,” I proclaim.
We drive over to their house and I
see the news vans parked in front of their house and I can already tell
this is going to be harder than I had imagined. Telling them why their
daughter is dead.
I get out of the car and am mobbed
by the reporters, asking, “ Was Katie a good friend of yours, how did
you manage to keep down that burglar, did you feel like you had to stop
that man?” But the only question that I heard was, “Do you feel like a
hero?”
I stop dead in my tracks and bellow, “How am I a hero when Katie is dead?”
All the questions, all the
commotion stopped instantly. Obviously no one had even heard that
question but me. I rush inside without uttering another word.
I see Katie’s parents and I want
to cry and beg for their forgiveness, but I stand tall and close my
eyes to find my strength. Then with all of the courage I can muster up,
I tell them, “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did and I
can’t change the past, no matter how much I want to.”
I look into their eyes and I see
expressions that I didn’t expect from them, one of pity and one of
shame. They were ashamed not of me, but of someone else.
“Last night, that man, the one you stopped. He was Katie’s brother,” they murmur. “Why would he do that?” I demand.
“He was trying to get money. He
was doing drugs and owed money, a lot of money. We didn’t know about
this until the other day, the same time we learned of Katie’s death.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” they convey to me with tears in their eyes.
* * *
Katie was a great person who had a
lot to offer in life, music that would have changed the world. But
she’ll never get that life because of one shot, one chance. That’s all
we get. Katie is an example of what happens when we lose sight of
what’s right in front of us and we don’t see it because we’re too busy
to notice it. We can’t change the past, but we can influence the
future. There are people every day that are around you that need help.
It may be just a helping hand to stand back up or maybe it’s just that
smile you give someone passing by. Whatever it is, you change a life
and possibly save one as well. You are the difference.
Megan Stice
October 30, 2006
Lucky Number Seven
Genre: Fiction/Short Story
Draft #: 2
Dear Readers: My story is about Claire, a man-eater because deep
down inside she’s afraid of commitment. Her friends Rallie and Shannon
both know she has serious guy issues. What do they do when Claire finds
guy number seven? I got this idea from a T.V. movie. It was about a girl who promised her
mother she would marry the seventh guy she dated, but she was in love
with guy number six. I’m very happy with what I’ve written so far. I don’t like that I
didn’t really stress about Connor. He is really what this whole story
is based on and I really didn’t talk about him that much (at least as
much as I would’ve liked to). My favorite parts of the story are the
ones that are very descriptive. Like, the ones that make you feel like
you’re there. My favorite line in the whole story is, “Waiting is
always a hard thing to do. Waiting to get on a roller coaster, waiting
for a phone call, or waiting in a mile long line to the bathroom when
you have to pee so bad that you don’t think you can make it. Waiting
for Connor to show up was just like that.”
Claire had always been a tad bit on the wild side.
She always had a boyfriend, a new pair of shoes (or a tattoo, depending
on her mood), and a sly half-open smile on her face. Her newest “Catch
of the Week,” as we would call the lucky man who had her eye, was
David. Now, David was a great looking, nice guy. Don’t get me wrong. I
guess Claire thought he either “Wasn’t her type” or he “Was too sloppy”
or “Too needy.” There was always something wrong with every guy she was
seeing. Shannon and I both thought that she had major commitment
issues.
“No, I don’t,” Claire would protest. “I guess I’m just really picky.”
“C’mon, Claire,” I said as I waited for her to look
me in the eye. “You’ve been through Robbie, Tyler, Garrett, James,
Matt, and now poor, poor David in the last month. Something is wrong.”
“I haven’t broke up with David yet, you know,” Claire added.
“But, you’re going to tomorrow. You said that
yesterday quote on quote, ‘Shannon, David just isn’t the one. I’m not
going to marry him. Why should I stay with him?’” Shannon exclaimed
with hand jesters and facial expressions to capture the drama of it
all.
Claire would never admit that we were right, even
though she knew it. We could see it in the way that whenever we would
mention it she couldn’t look us in the eyes, or the way she would bite
her lip. She was also never the kind to open up. Claire was like a
princess in the tallest tower of a castle; and if any guy were even
close to rescuing her, then she would tell the fire-breathing dragon to
gobble them up. Every guy she would be with was toast. Burnt to a
crisp, velvet black, toast. They never had a chance.
The radio blared and the bass bumped in the back of
Claire’s Chevy truck. She had already broken David’s heart and kicked
him to the curb.
As Claire turned the corner to Jackson Avenue, she
turned down the radio and said, “I’ve met someone new. His name is
Connor, and we’re dating.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I stated. “This would be number seven for you in the last month.”
“But, you see, Rallie, I have a very good feeling
about this one. He could be my lucky number seven,” she said actually
looking at me in the eyes, which to tell you the truth I was kind of
scared about considering the fact that she wasn’t looking at the road.
“I want you to meet him, Rallie. I want you and Shannon to meet him.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly. “How about tonight? We can stop by around seven or so.”
“That sounds great. Seven… Lucky number seven,” Claire whispered to herself.
With that I stepped out of the truck and slammed the
rusty door shut. You could hear the BANG of the rusty door echo down
the street. As I walked up the stairs to my own front door I was
actually looking forward to meeting this guy, (Or should I say…
victim), that Claire was so excited about.
Waiting is always a hard thing to do. Waiting to get
on a roller coaster, waiting for a phone call, or waiting in a mile
long line to the bathroom when you have to pee so bad that you don’t
think you can make it. Waiting for Connor to show up was just like
that. The only sound in the room was the dull hum of the air
conditioning from the kitchen. I sat on the cat hair infested blue wool
couch that I had sat on plenty of times making many memories. Claire
sat to my right and Shannon to my left. All of us looking straight
forward… not looking at each other nor acknowledging that any of us
were even there. I felt like I was in the principal’s office.
The dog started yelping and we knew someone was at
the door before anyone even knocked. Claire stood and the floor creaked
as she made her way to the door. It swung open and there was Connor.
Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes. He was like a life size Ken doll. His
smile even looked a little fake. He was wearing a LSU sweatshirt,
(…Nice), jeans and infamous Nikes.
“Hey,” Connor said faintly as he raised his hand in small wave gesture.
“This is Shannon, and Rallie,” Claire stated,
pointing at us as we smiled and nodded our heads simultaneously. She
wrapped her arm around his waist and led him into the room.
He took a seat in Claire’s father’s favorite brown
leather recliner. The light was shining on his face from the window
above. His face washed out and you could see every crevice and wrinkle
he had on his porcelain face.
I thought he was stuck because he really didn’t say
much up until a while later, when we were all laughing so hard that our
insides almost came out of our noses. He, in fact, was a
comedian. I never would of thought that any of the words he said
would have come out of his mouth. I was definitely wrong about him.
Plastic Ken had a personality.
I started to think about them. The way they stared
at each other, (In a good way. Not the “You have something in your
teeth way”), and the way he rubbed her hand as it lay on top of hers.
Maybe he was lucky number seven, I thought to myself. They had
something special started and I could tell that she didn’t want it to
end.
Danielle Albers
October 30, 2006
Continued From The Frightener
Fiction
Draft #2
Dear Readers: My story is
about Morgan, or Morganna, a “normal” teenage girl living in a cute
little town called Oak Valley. Her hobbies include, taking care
of all of her beloved pets, witch craft, scaring little kids, shopping
at the mall for new, Goth style, clothes, scaring the school teachers
with her pet snakes, and breaking into places likes zoos, animal
shelters, and dog pounds. She is just like all the rest of us
don’t you think? This story is actually a small piece of a story
that I have been writing since my freshmen year. The idea kind of
came to me one day when I was thinking about the lives of two of my
friends and mine as well. The main character, Morganna, is
actually based around all three of us. We all have bright red
hair, although Lynn’s isn’t natural like Kelsey’s and mine.
Morganna is also someone who sticks out and doesn’t really feel like
she fits in anywhere, but still doesn’t care, that came from all three
of us as well. All of us love animals, and we’re all trying to
find the right guy, but the witchcraft part I just sort of threw in for
fun, along with the part about the cops. Lynn is actually the
only one of us that owns a snake, but it isn’t a cobra like Fatalia,
and rattlesnake like Rattles, nor is it a coral snake like Rusty or
Sunset. Kelsey and I both have dogs, I have two shelties and she
has one cocker spaniel. No, none of us is crazy enough to buy a
pet jaguar cub, well, at least not yet anyway.
Tonight,
however, I brushed it quickly. Talon, as much as I liked him,
would not get to see my hair tonight. So I began to French braid
it very tightly. I knew that with this particular hairstyle that
my hair would only fall down to about the small of my back, or my waist
if it didn’t turn out to be as tight as I was going for.
I finished my
braiding and tied the whole thing off with a black ribbon, and made
sure that it would stay put as well. Then I grabbed my
“book-o-witchcraft” and settled into the window seat. I pulled
the thick, and of course, black curtains back so the moon shined in
through the window, only to find golden eyes set into a chiseled head
staring back at me from the other side of the glass.
I smiled and
put the book on the floor at my feet so I could open the window.
Rattles slithered in, silent as the shadows that he came out of, and
settled in my lap much the same way Fatalia would. I gently
stroked his long, muscular body before gently picking him up and
settling him on my shoulder. He wrapped himself around my neck
like a really big, scaly necklace, and I began my trek downstairs to
open the door for his companion.
Before I got
out the bedroom door, however, I felt something brush my leg, and I
realized that Fatalia had come over to me and was now asking for
“permission” to come along too since Rattles got to go. I bent
down and held my hand out, and she, once again, wrapped herself around
my arm.
I silently made
my way downstairs, past the bedroom of my sleeping parents. I
knew they probably wouldn’t hear me anyway, because to live with me
would mean to be a very heavy sleeper. But like my mom always
says, “It’s better to be safe, than sorry!” So I made my way, as
silently as possible, downstairs, with two snakes on my arms and a
smile of my face.
I stopped right
in front of the door, and I knew that Talon was sitting in the porch
swing smoking a cigarette. No, I’m not psychic or anything, but I
could see the burning orange end of his cig through the blurry little
window that mirrored the one on the other side of the door as
well. Yes, I know that he smokes, but I never smoked with
him. With my love for life and nature, smoking is just one thing
that I see to be nothing but a murderer and something that I myself
with never even consider doing. So yes, I am actually kind of
against smoking myself; but if other people want to kill themselves
twice as fast, I wouldn’t get in their way, even if I were dating them.
I unlatched and
unchained the door and watched through the window as the glowing cig
was thrown away. I opened the door to see Talon still sitting in
the swing, but he was missing the cig he had thrown away for me.
He knew I was against smoking, so he never smoked in my presence.
That was one of the many reason as to why I liked him so much.
He stood up and
walked over to me; and as he did so, the smile on my face got a little
bigger. Rattles stretched his long, gorgeous body out to his
friend and master, and Talon reached out an arm for him to wrap around
so he could crawl up to his usual perch on Talon’s neck. Fatalia
also moved up to her normal perch as well, wrapping her golden scales
around my neck to replace Rattles’ now missing body as my
necklace.
Talon had
stopped just a few feet from me, and at that moment, I just really
wanted to hug him. So I closed the remaining distance between us
and wrapped my arms around his waist, going underneath the jacket he
was wearing so that only his t-shirt and my own silk shirt kept the hug
from being skin to skin.
He was wearing
his usual baggy jeans with a leather belt holding them up and not down
around his ankles. A plain black t-shirt rubbed up against my
cheek as I hugged him close, and the denim jacket was now wrapped more
around the both of us. He was still wearing his sunglasses, even
though it was the darkest part of the night, and of course, the hat was
still there too.
I loosened my
grip on him, and he reached up to take of the glasses so I could see
his eyes. I looked up at him, still smiling, and watched as a
playful little smile of his own played its way across his face.
It was almost
what I’d call a perfect moment. Eccept for the fact that merely
seconds later, a car peeled around the corner, its tires screeching on
the pavement from the high speed it was traveling at. The lights
flashed on the top of the car, and I realized that it was the
cops.
“What are the cops doing speeding around town this late at night?” I asked myself.
Only seconds
passed before my question was partially answered. Talon grabbed
me and threw me into the house, making me stumble when I tripped from
being thrown so suddenly. He ran in after me and locked all the
locks on the door, which went down the entire length of the door.
He locked the very last one, and then turned to me with a look on his
face that I myself have never even seen before.
“Can you keep a
secret?” was all that he asked me. All I could do was stare back
at him, my mouth wide with shock and the horror of the possibilities of
what he could have done.
Taylor Weber
12/12/06
Corporate America
Poem
Draft #3
This
poem talks about how corporate America is destroying and polluting our
nation. The message I was trying to portray was how monopolies and big
business has spoiled our economy and business opportunities. I got the
ideas partially from a quote out of a paper and events in the world on
TV, newspapers, and just what I see in the world. I like what I’ve
written I think it creates a good visualization of what I’m trying to
get across. My favorite part is “the bitter realization of
betrayal”, that seems like it happens a lot in the business world. I
also like “the semi-city of half priced outsourcing labeled Walmart”
that kindof makes a good idea of what Walmart has created.
Corporate America,
The transcendence of small business
Mixed with their greedy owners visualizing
Opportunity spawning from “Made in China”
And “No Refunds”
While they create conformation
to corporation on our nation,
brewing in their upper class taste of apple pie, poisoned
with the bitter realization of their own betrayal to their people.
Sitting in their skyscrapers staring down their nose
To the unsatisfactory middle class man working to pay taxes
To the fat cats sitting in their cushy chairs accepting
Their orders from big oil and the Midwestern man’s
Gateway to simplicity through the semi-city of half priced outsourcing dubbed Wal-mart
While protestors foul the streets constantly reminding us of
Everything polluting our idea of a perfect, sterile society.
Mikayla Ehlers
12/12/06
Smash Me Into Pieces
Poem
Draft #2
I have seen many people go down the social ladder just because of one
rumor. So many people just sit back and let it happen either to them or
to others. People need to stand up for what they believe in and show
that they can be independent. I got this idea from seeing this sort of
stuff happen to classmates. I also got it from our hotspot activity. We
went though a magazine and found words/ phases that interested us.
Smash me into Pieces was one of many that caught my eye. I like the
poem. I think it has some truth to it and I think it is an easier poem
to understand than others. As I was revising I thought of more stanzas
to put in. My favorite part is the metaphor hammering at my brain. I
really like my poem and I think it is fuller and more descriptive than
before.
Smash Me into Pieces
My glass has broken
Tears fall like rain
What was done to make them
Smash me into pieces?
Rumors are spread
Lies are told
What does this do?
Smash me into pieces
My friends are there
Not beginning to care
Sitting in a corner while they
Smash me into pieces
Hushed whispers in the hall
Eyes drilling into the back of my head
Hammering at my brain
Smashing me into pieces
Comments are made
With hatred toward me
Can’t sit back and watch them
Smash me into pieces
My speech is made
And most confidence is regained
They can’t touch me
My pieces will be put back together
Nicole Seier
3/15/07
Superman
Fiction
Draft #4
"Superman" is a short story about a boy and his
Superman action figure. Steve didn’t need a security blanket
because he had Superman. I got the idea for this story from
reading though a list of hot spots our class had put together.
The hot spot was “I saw Superman die.” I branched my idea from
this and decided to tell it from a kid’s point of view.
“Merry Christmas Champ,” my Grandpa said as he
handed me a shoebox covered in shiny red foil. With no hesitation
I tore open the box and found my new best friend. Superman never
left my side once he came out of the box. When most two year olds
carried around a worn-out blanket or a bear, I was there with
Superman. From bath-time to naptime, Superman and I were always
together. I was not known as Steve, it was Steve and Superman.
“Where are Steve and Superman?” my mom would ask.
That next Halloween, and every year after that, I
dressed up in my own Superman costume. In my own red cape,
Superman in one hand and a plastic pumpkin in the other, I filled
pumpkin after pumpkin with tootsie-rolls and lollipops.
As I got older, started kindergarten, and eventually
entered third grade, Superman slowly found his spot on my bedside
table. My classmates became tired of seeing the same thing during
Show-and-Tell every Friday. He sat there, collecting dust, with
the same cheesy smile that I saw as I unwrapped the Christmas paper, on
his face. His red cape gradually faded and ends frayed. It
looked as if Superman forgot to brush his teeth as, little by little,
his bright white smile turned yellow.
Some might say I disowned Superman for about nine
years. I lived a normal life and was always busy with school
activities. I finally said hello the summer of my senior
year. I had just finished my junior year and already I had a
slight case of senioritis. I rediscovered Superman when I was
unwillingly cleaning my room, under a pile of paper, rubber bands, and
dust. I held him in my hands, and as I sat on my bed I studied
Superman. He hadn’t changed a bit. He still had my name
under his left foot and a hole in his cape where a car door shut on
him. Superman and I had a lot of history together, from
adventures in the park to long car rides to Grandma and Grandpa’s
house.
I decided to give Superman a little fresh air and
drive around the block a few times. Well, needless to say, the
block turned into a drive around town. With windows in my ’88
Ford pick-up rolled down, I came upon the train tracks that sliced my
hometown in half. Being the driver that I am, I didn’t slow down
when the red lights started flashing. Bump after bump I drove
over the tracks as the safety bar came down and that annoying ding-ding
rang in my ears. I guess Superman started bouncing on my
passenger seat and bounced right out the window onto the tracks.
After I realized what had happened, I parked my car
on the side of the road and opened my door. There was Superman,
helplessly lying in the middle of the tracks as the train came roaring
by, with no intent of stopping any time soon. I watched in horror
as the train sent him flying through the air. It wasn’t a bird or
a plane; it was Superman.
Once the train passed, I uneasily made my way to the
ditch where Superman landed. With one leg completely gone and his
stomach flattened, I cautiously picked him up. His cape was
partially gone, leaving only a red faded scarf around his neck. I
have to admit, seeing Superman like that broke my heart. He had
always been there for me, and this is how I thank him?
I took Superman back home after having no luck
finding his right leg. I washed off the mud and I tried to bring
back the Superman I adored as a child. That Superman was gone,
never to return. The new Superman is no longer covered in dust or
a pile of paper. The new Superman sits on the shelf in my college
dorm room and reminds me of our time together.
Desirae Cabieles
3/22/07
Forgotten garden
Poetry
Mrs. Bowker
Draft 3
AUTHORS NOTE:
My poem is mainly about the
changing seasons. It is also about the way other things in life change
along with the seasons. I think my poem means that as things change
important things that we once loved may be forgotten in the midst of
time. I got my idea for this poem by reading the list of hot spots. I
read through the list and I thought of which one I could turn into a
poem that would have meaning. I love this poem, and I think it relates
a lot to peoples lives and their feelings toward change.
FORGOTTEN GARDEN
Spring is here
Flowers are in bloom
Green grass is growing lush
Warm sun relieves us of the snowy gloom
Flowers are soon to be taken over by desert brush
My garden soon to be forgotten
Summer is scorching
Dry petals litter the ground
Sunlight pouring down, turning flowers to dust
Once green, grass browns
The dirt is like an endless brown crust
My garden beginning to be forgotten
Fall starts
Only a muddle of leaves left from a barren tree
Some people are glad to see the leaves gone
I turn around so no one can see
My silent tears fall as my hopes come undone
My garden will be forgotten
Winter arrives
Everlasting descending snow
Settling atop my shrunken garden
A blanket of white blowing to and fro
Soon as it hits, the ground begins to harden
My forgotten garden
District 145 Public Schools
and
Educational Service Unit #6, Milford, Nebraska
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